A Dream Within A Dream

sitting down to write when the house is nice and quiet and everything and everyone else is asleep is wonderful

I can’t really paint worth a flip. I can do a little bit of folk art - like stuff. Yet now it’s like something is whispering in my ear and giving me images to paint like things do to write their stories.

Kit: What's your latest writing projects?

I have no idea what the actual name of it is, but my granddaddy had a favorite little ditty he’d sing, especially when he was thinking about getting out of some problem. Lately it’s popped back in my head and it’s a bit helpful to me too. “If the ocean were corn whiskey, 

Been a really rough couple of years. Lost a son in Jan 2018, my grandmother who helped raise me in March 2019 and my grandfather who was both my granddaddy and dad in Oct 2019. It seems like it never stops lately, and there is no time to rest or heal or even deal with all of this. There’s calls to make, people to talk to, people to take care of. What there is, is a lot of pain and a void where someone should be but they aren’t. No regrets, thankfully, but I miss them, so very very much, and most of time, none of it still seems like it’s real.

I'm busier than a one-legged butt kicker.

"It is over and nobody knows you. There is starlight drifting on the black water. There are stones in the sea no one has seen. There is a shore and people are waiting. And nothing comes back. Because it is over. Because there is silence instead of a name.”